


Catibrations

by ramblingAnthropologist



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Garrus' turian ass wiggles, M/M, Not yet romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 03:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12402393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingAnthropologist/pseuds/ramblingAnthropologist
Summary: Calibrations are universal, whether they're performed by a cat or a Turian. Alistair learns this first hand one day thanks to efforts from his niece's cat. Now if only he had learned it without bleeding.





	Catibrations

The hunt was on.

A target lay in wait, unsuspecting. The hunter moved into position, silent and deadly. There would be only one shot at this. It all came down to timing and position. They checked their positioning one last time before they slammed the trap shut. And then they sprung.

But the damn red dot moved again.

“Going to have to do better than that, Spectre.” Alistair Shepard chuckled as he aimed the laser pointer at a different spot on the floor. In front of him, a little black kitten with bright yellow eyes meowed as it chased after it, tiny claws outstretched and ready for the kill. “That a girl, you show that dot!”

If he'd had time to reflect, perhaps a Spectre leading Spectre on was a little morbid. However, she was cute, and she wasn't really his kitten anyway. Interesting naming conventions just happened to run in his family line.

The cat's true owner, his young niece, was watching from the couch, giggling as she worked on a school assignment. Technically, he was supposed to be watching her in exchange for staying there during his short leave from the Normandy. However, she pretty much watched herself and someone had to play with the adorable kitten.

It might get lonely.

“Uncle Al, you're going too fast for her. She's only got little legs.” Kelly also had little legs, and little everything else for that matter. Hopefully, she'd stay that way and not outgrow him by the time she hit 16. Kids did that a lot lately. “Slow down and let her get one.”

Alistair chuckled from his spot on the floor, aiming the red dot near his leg. “But she's a Spectre. If she can't get the red dot, nobody can.”

His arrogance would be his undoing, of course. In that brief moment, the mighty hunter managed to get the drop on him. Tiny razor claws went straight through denim and right into his ankle as the kitten pounced straight on the red dot.

If he had to rate it on a scale from 1 to being spaced, it was actually worse than dying.

“Well, she got the red dot.” Kelly winced from the couch. “Need a band-aid, Uncle Al?”

“That be great.” He hissed through his teeth, allowing a nod to Spectre. “Well played. You've earned your name.”

This time, he made sure to aim the red dot far away from anything on his person, completely across the room for that matter. The cat was soon at it again, pouncing and frolicking as she chased after her mortal foe.

Kelly returned a few moments later with a box of neon-colored band-aids. She sat down next to him as he rolled his pants up above his ankle. Spectre's claws had left a perfect four line slash across the skin, and it dripped blood down his foot and into his sock.

Luckily, he wasn't wearing his hamster socks. He would've hated to get blood on those.

“Mom says that's why we don't tease the cat.”

“Your mother is a wise woman and you should listen to her.”

His ankle was soon covered in two neon green bandages crossed over with an equally obnoxious orange one. The pink ones, like the ones that covered his niece's knees, were clearly being saved for a higher purpose. That was fine with him, he liked green and orange.

In the time it took for first aid to wrap up, Spectre had grown bored. She was watching them now, yellow eyes focused on a beam of sunlight close to Alistair's hand. This time, both of them watched as the cat hunkered down, back end wiggling.

Kelly's voice was soft as she leaned in to whisper to her uncle. “I learned in school that cats do that to adjust their aim before they pounce. It's called calibration.”

Her tone was very serious, and no doubt she was repeating the lecture in the same tone her teacher had in class. However, Alistair's mind was in a very different place, far from that living room and above their heads.

He wondered what else wiggled their ass when they calibrated.

Of course, he didn't get long to think on it. Pain jolted through his arm as he broke from his reverie. Spectre was there again, batting at his hand with her little needle claws. It was only his luck and a bit of positioning that she had gone for his right hand.

“Need more bandages, Uncle Al?”

“Yeah... I think I do.” Another point to Spectre. He was beginning to think she was gunning for his job at that rate.

\---

“Commander, what the hell happened to you?”

“I got in a fight with another Spectre.”

There was a bright yellow bandage on his cheek, another across his nose, and his right hand was positively fluorescent as Alistair entered the Normandy once more. Joker was trying – and failing – to contain his amusement as he took stock of the battle wounds, and no doubt he would be telling stories after.

“I'd hate to see the other guy if you look like this.”

“I've got pictures on my omnitool I'll show you later.” His tone was so flat they could've used it as a level. Shaking his head, he headed off towards the elevator behind the galaxy map he spent way too much time staring at.

It was time to test his theory.

Down on the crew deck it was busy as always. Still, the sight of the commander covered in band-aids was enough to shut them up for a few moments. Alistair made a beeline for the main battery, slowing to an almost crawling pace as he neared the door.

The important thing was not to spook him.

His plan was almost for naught when the door hissed open, but his target never noticed. They had their back to the door, hard and work and utterly oblivious to the world beyond the massive gun. For once, that was in his favor.

Silently, Alistair adjusted his omnitool for video and got ready. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he hid near the door, watching for his chance. He was so close, and all he had to do was hope nobody messed this up for him.

Garrus looked especially tense as he stood there, sweating over the calibrations. His entire body was a coiled spring, or whatever Turians were made of. Alistair had long assumed it to be rule books and sticks that were removed from other people's asses, but maybe there was a little something else in there. A little something feline maybe.

The commander forgot to breathe as he watched the Turian twitch. A few more seconds and … bingo. His lower body twitched ever so slightly to the left, and then to the right. It did it a few more times ,and then he went back to being absolutely stock still.

And Alistair had gotten it all on film. As it turned out, his theory was correct: calibrations were calibrations no matter who was doing them.

Of course, his celebration was cut short. The door hissed closed behind him, trapping him in the main battery. The sudden loss of his exit caused him to lose his balance and he fell with a clang to the floor right by Garrus' feet. It gave him a great view of Turian toes and the object of his hypothesis turned to face him at last.

“Shepard, what are you doing?”

Alistair at least had the grace to give a sheepish smile as he sat up, rubbing the sore bridge of his nose. Not broken, just sore. “Just wanted to say hi after I got back from leave.”

“And you had to do that from the floor.”

“Old human custom.”

He stood at last, dusting himself off. His omnitool was off and the video was safe. Garrus gave him a critical once over, but instead of questioning why the commander was there, he settled on something else.

“What happened to your face?”

Oh, he was going to be answering that one a lot until he healed up. For some weird reason, people just refused to heal cat scratches with medigel. Something about making him learn his lesson. At least Kelly had sent him back with plenty of bandages.

“Let's just say I came out the worse in a fight with a rogue Spectre.” He moved forward, closer to Garrus. “Anyway, how's calibrations going? You looked pretty focused.”

That always got the Turian off his trail. He was in for a long conversation, but Alistair didn't mind as he leaned back for the long explanation. Honestly, he could watch Garrus talk all damn day long. Plus, now he had some lovely video to cheer his darker hours.

It was totally worth almost breaking his nose to catch the calibrations at work... or should he call them catibrations?

  
  


 


End file.
